catastrophe
by day dreaming dreamer
Summary: They are the designers to their own catastrophe. "I love you," he snaps. She scoffs, fumbling with her clothes. This isn't the first false proclamation of love, and she's certain it won't be the last. "That's a shame. It'll make it harder for you to kill me." Rey/Kylo. (One-shot).


**_catastrophe:_**

 _"_ _I am the designer of my own catastrophe."_

* * *

Rey basks in the sunlight. She's warm, the warmest she's ever felt, and her brain is muddled with sleep. She closes her eyes, wishes she could slip back into the realm of unconsciousness, but she's awake before she can comprehend the severity of the situation. She feels small underneath him; fragile, _breakable_ , and more importantly, exposed. She's aware of her nakedness, too aware, and the peace she's felt only seconds before shatter. Her cheeks light up, ignite with a burning red she's only accustomed to on Jakku. She suddenly feels tainted.

She knows he's already seen her, too much of her, but she still tugs the blanket up. He groans in his sleep, in displeasure from her abrupt movements, his raven curls askew. He flops over, facing the other direction. He's such a deep sleeper. His mind is tangled with incoherent thoughts, and she goes into them, thinking hard. He dreams of sunlight. He dreams of his family. It's all in snapshots, moving too fast for him to truthfully remember, but she sees them all. She sees herself in his mind, bright eyed and glowing, and that only makes her stomach twist. She shouldn't be invading him like that. But she should. She tears herself from his mind, and sits there, upright and tense. She can't bring herself to move quite yet, to break his realm of tranquility that surrounds them.

When she stares at him, she tries not to think about the mask he wears. About his red cross, always crackling with broken energy and murderous intent. She tries not to think about Han. She shivers at the memory, and bites down hard on her lip. She can't think of them. Not right now, as she lies naked beside him. No one knew about _this…_ about _them_ … whatever they were. She wants it to stay that way, because she already can't bare the shame. She already imagines Finn's look of disappointment, his anger, Luke's frustration, and Leia's silent judgement.

But she loves him. She knows this as she reaches out and gently runs her fingertips through his locks. He mumbles something, but does not stir. Not in the slightest. She supposes he wouldn't even notice if she decides to slip out before he awakens. Leaving like a ghost, a haunting memory that he can never truly prove. She thinks he's beautiful, and she wants to stay with him. Because when it's just them, she's not a Jedi warrior. He isn't Kylo Ren. He's simply Ben, and she is Rey, and their pasts are forgotten with every tender touch and kiss. There is no war, no Ren, no defrayment, no murder, and no conflict. She forgets when he touches her. She forgets when she stares at him sleeping, so youthful looking. She forgets that she's supposed to kill him. She knows he forgets the same.

She presses a fleeting kiss to his forehead. He stiffens, and his eyes flinch, but they don't open. She doesn't see his dark eyes, specked with gold fragments. She wishes she could see them one last time. Rey is greedy, she knows this— this never should've happened, but she's stupid and is _always_ wanting more. It's her fault. If she hadn't been so selfish and reckless, thinking that she could take what she pleased because of her pain, it would never be like this. Silently, she slides from the comfortable mattress. It's much softer than the one she has at base. The one she has is practically a rock, but she never complains. Anything would be better than the sandy floor at Jakku. It's a beautiful home, she thinks, with white everywhere. There's a garden outside, and a pond. She doesn't think she'll ever get over how much green there is. How much blue. It's an inn, and he's always there when he calls to her.

She tears her gaze away from the view. Ben—Kylo— whoever was present in that bed, is nothing more than a bitter distraction from what she must do. She slides on her clothes, fumbling quietly with her pants and jacket. There's bruises on her hips from when he yanked too hard, but there's scratches on his back, and she thinks they're even. Her short hair is a mess, and she feels somewhat sick as she yanks her boots on. She doesn't spare him a glance as she walks to the door. Even just his sleeping face would stop her from leaving, so she doesn't look back.

"You're leaving, then?"

She freezes, then shuts her eyes in agitation. She can't take another step. He voice sounds awake, much more awake than it should be. "Yes," she mumbles, feeling somewhat guilty. She's a moron for thinking that. She feels his disappointment through the force, and then he's prying at her mind, trying to get some sense of what she might be thinking. "Get out of my head."

"You were in mine," he counters.

She cringes. So he had noticed.

"I always notice, Rey." He stands, and she turns, the tips of her ears turning a blistering red. It's somehow different in daylight. In reality. It's as if she's never seen him now, and her heart pulses. She hears the swish of fabric, and then he's back to searching her mind.

She blocks him then, infuriated by how easy he could slip in undetected. She feels his hurt radiating from him. She doesn't need to search his mind to know _he feels betrayed_ that she was going to slip away into the sunrise. Which is rich, especially coming from him. She bites down on her tongue, hard, to refrain from saying it. She's not sure how _this- them_ happened. He had called to her one night, ' _come to me_ ' and so she had come with the sole purpose of killing him. It was just him, no tricks, no manipulations, and he had broken her intentions with his lips. The light saber had layed on the floor that night, rendered useless.

She remembered how shocked she had been the next morning, how disgusted she had felt. They had yelled at each other then, equally frustrated and sickened, and had walked away. The second time had been different. They had both secretly _wanted_. The third time had been on purpose. They had longed for one another, and it had been made known.

She had told herself it had been nothing but meaningless lust, but it had always been more than that. It had been tender, and they had laughed, and spoke about their broken dreams and pathetic lives. She had seen more and more of Ben Solo every night, and less and less of Kylo Ren.

"Your shirt is on inside out."

She fumes, but turns around and strips from her jacket.

"I hate you."

He says nothing to this, but she can feel him watching as she slides off her shirt. And then he's on her faster than she can process, kissing her, leaving marks down her neck. She gasps at his touch. It's usually slow and agonizing, but now it's fast and desperate. "Don't go," he pleads against her neck, and she shudders in contempt and amazement. He kisses her once more, and only then does she rip away.

"I have to," she whispers, breathless. He nods, but his loneliness says otherwise, and he runs his fingertip down the bite marks he left on her neck. She tries to tell herself that this is all a dream, a beautiful nightmare, but it's real. All of it. She pulls away, as if burned, and she can feel his hurt.

"I love you," he snaps. This isn't the first false proclamation, and it certainly won't be the last. She doesn't doubt that he does love her, but he's like a miner that loves his gold. His love is more possession than compassion, and that somehow helps to convince her that this is nothing other than a relief from pain and stress. Almost like a hobby. A twisted, masochistic hobby that neither of them can stop.

Kylo Ren loves her out of spite.

She glares at him. Her shirt is thankfully back on, in the proper way, and she zips up her jacket to her chin as if to prove a point. "No, you don't."

He feels frustrated, and he touches her shoulders briefly. He pulls away before she can shrug from his grip, and she knows his limited touch is on purpose. "I do."

"That's a shame," she retorts. She tries to stop the words, but they fly from her mouth angrily. "That will make it harder for you to kill me."

He scowls. Kylo Ren is excited by the prospect, but she feels Ben Solo flinch. If they were just one and the same, it would be so much easier to walk away. From this. From him. "I don't want to kill you," he protests. "I never wanted to kill you."

That, she knows, is true. Even when she had slashed a scar across his face, when she was ready to spit on his grave, he had offered to _teach her_. He could've easily overpowered her that snowy evening, slammed her off the cliff, but he _hadn't_. He always found a way to leave her alive.

Would it be some kind of sick mercy if she had died? If she had finished him off?

"Stop," she hisses. She's rakes a hand through the tangles in her hair, puzzled and emotional. Some days she wishes she had never left Jakku. Staying in solitude feels a lot easier than _this._  
"This is the last time," she states, and she doesn't have to explain it for him to understand.

His expression tightens, hardens considerably, and he scoffs. "Whatever you say."

"Don't give me that look," she retorts. "It will be."

"That's what you said the last time," he drawls, somehow in a taunting manner. The corner of his lips lift up. Amused, almost. Hurt, barely. "And the time before that."

"I hate you," she spits the words like they're ice on her tongue. She somehow knows she will be back before she even has left. Somehow. Some day. She only hopes that someone kills her before she can get the chance. She'd rather die a painfully slow death than be reduced to this. She hates herself for loving him so much, because she does. Truly. Unconditionally. She loves Ben Solo, she loves the way he smiles. She loves the way the smallest light within him builds and nearly flourishes whenever he sees her.

"And I love you," he replies coldly. "I'll always find you."

She slams the door behind her before he can say anything else. "I know," she mumbles.

He always says that. It never fails to make her detest Kylo Ren even more, because she does despise the darkness in him. There's more bleakness than light, more pain than happiness, and she's not strong enough to fight for him anymore. He has to want it enough, too. She will meet him halfway, but until then, she will be prepared for when she has to kill him.

Her only option is to hate him, but she still loves him in between the shades of reality.

* * *

 **A/N: Happy new year!**

 **I've gotten such good feedback on my Reylo fics, and I just wanted to say that I really appreciate every review! They're a difficult pairing to write about, but couples layered in angst, fighting on opposite sides, (canon or not) are my favorite kind.**

 **I'm not sure how I feel about this one. It was fun to write, but it just bothers me. I don't think this scenario would _ever_ happen. And I know this is fanfiction and that's the point, but I don't think Rey or Kylo would ever get themselves into this situation. It just goes against their characters. I don't know. Thoughts? **

**Should I continue this?**

 **Reviews make me happy!**


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